Once they arrived in Venice, their identities would again change. Sometimes Claire felt as though she needed a name tag to help her answer to the correct name. She really didn’t care what name she used as long as she could forgo the wigs and colored contacts.
Unfortunately, her sister, Emily, was working overtime to keep Claire’s name and face in the news. The last information Claire read online said she was still missing and speculations were centered on Anthony Rawlings. It reassured Claire to know that her call to Evergreen cleared Tony’s name.
If Claire could make one more call, it would be to Emily. As she and Phil rode toward the airport, she remembered how it felt to have her communication restricted by Tony. Ironically, she recognized she was once again in the same situation. This time, Claire didn’t know who to blame. Was it Catherine’s fault? After all, she was the reason Claire fled. Or was it Tony’s? If he’d never taken her—Claire couldn’t even imagine that scenario. Her life was so different than anything she’d foreseen in her youth; nevertheless, she reminded herself if Tony had never taken her then she wouldn’t be having his child. Tears threatened to permeate her colored contacts as Claire accepted the truth. Her current state, current deception of friends and family was self-imposed. She couldn’t place blame anywhere but on the woman in the mirror, no matter who she looked like at any given moment. Once again, her impulsivity played into her opponent’s hand. When the cards were dealt, Claire should’ve demanded a re-deal. She should’ve stayed true to the agreement she’d made with Tony, and she should’ve trusted him; instead, she wagered with fear and went full in.
The payoff, the safety of her child, was too important. Claire needed to see the game through until the end—folding wasn’t an option.
Mr. Evergreen explained that the FBI would soon be involved and instructed Claire to check in periodically. Evergreen warned that the FBI would more than likely want direct contact; however, Claire wasn’t willing to give the prosecutor anything more than Geneva as her current location. She’d lived through too many lies to trust anyone.
Claire agreed to Evergreen’s terms in that she’d remain hidden and safe. During her conversation with Marcus, she didn’t mention she had assistance. The information didn’t seem relevant. In this high stakes poker game, Phil was her ace in the hole.
Claire appreciated Phil’s concern. His desires toward her had been acknowledged. She knew that she was more than a job to him. If circumstances were different, she might entertain the idea of reciprocation; however, he understood her stance. Her acceptance of his platonic affection was purely for her and her child’s safety. She’d promised Marcus Evergreen she’d remain temporarily under the radar, and in return, he’d keep Tony safe. Phil helped her fulfill her side of that agreement.
Ten days later…
Harry looked at the screen of his phone and his eyes grew wide. Glancing around the room, he saw Amber’s expression. No doubt, by his sudden change in demeanor, she knew something was up. He steadied his expression and nodded.
“Who is it?” Amber asked in a hushed tone as the rest of the room continued chatting.
Harry didn’t respond; instead, he stepped quickly from Amber’s kitchen and the collective ears present. Before he knew it, Harry was standing in Claire’s old bedroom and answering his phone, “Hello, this is Agent Baldwin.”
The call was not only a surprise, but an overwhelming relief. He listened carefully as Agent Williams, Special Agent in Charge of San Francisco FBI, explained the new turn of events: Claire Nichols was alive, safe, and hiding overseas. She’d personally contacted the Iowa City prosecutor who immediately informed the FBI. Even more interesting was the tale of deception Ms. Nichols spun to Mr. Evergreen. She claimed that though she’d left town because she feared for her safety, she now had reason to fear for the safety of Anthony Rawlings, and she emphasized—under no circumstances was she implicating her ex-husband of any wrongdoing.
With each word, the muscles in Harry’s shoulders relaxed. Up until that moment, he’d fooled himself into believing he wasn’t worried about Claire. From the second Harry hung up the telephone after the bizarre call from Anthony Rawlings, asking him if he knew where Claire had gone, he told himself, Claire made her own decisions. She’d put herself willingly in Rawlings’ sphere of influence and deserved to reap the consequences. Rawlings was responsible for her disappearance, either from his own doing or as a by-product of his wealth. Either way, it was no longer Harry’s concern. Besides, she was pregnant with Rawlings’ child.
Then, without warning, he’d remember her voice. For a split second, that time when the conscious mind wasn’t fast enough to stop the unconscious thoughts, he’d wonder what would’ve happened if the child was his. He’d see Claire’s picture flash across the television screen or hear Emily’s worried voice and the concern, he’d told himself Claire didn’t deserve, would flood his chest.
Listening to his supervisor, that concern now seeped out. Standing in Claire’s room, hearing that she was indeed safe and alive gave birth to tears of relief which trickled down his cheeks. Of course, Harry couldn’t let that emotion infiltrate his voice—hell, his attachment to his assignment was part of the reason he’d been relieved of his duties: their connection truly severed.
It was after Patrick Chester’s attack and after the news of possible fatherhood that SAC Williams personally placed Agent Harrison Baldwin on temporary leave. Williams claimed the publicity over Chester’s attack threatened to expose their long time operation. Permanent termination from the bureau was threatened during more than one conversation.
None of that mattered anymore, as Harry listened and the SAC briefed him on the new developments. When Williams emphasized Rawlings’ innocence, Harry could no longer hold his tongue. “I know what that bastard did to her in the past. Maybe she’s speaking under duress?”
SAC Williams replied, “I haven’t spoken to her directly, but Evergreen believes her.”
“Sure he does. This time, her testimony helps Rawlings. Evergreen’s a Rawlings pawn. When she had something to say against him, the damn prosecutor wouldn’t listen and spun everything against her.”
“Listen Baldwin, if the Deputy Director hadn’t specifically asked for you to be back on this case, it wouldn’t be happening. If you’re going to make this work, then you need to get your head straight.”
Harry nodded. Williams was right. If he were to help again and learn more about the secrets involving the Rawls’ vendetta, then he needed to think like an agent—not a boyfriend. “Yes, sir, I understand. I’m grateful to be allowed back on this case.”
“Be at our office tomorrow at 9:00 AM. You’re taking a trip.”
His chest burst with excitement. This was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss. “Sir, what about Rawlings? Where’s he?”
“He’s currently in FBI custody; although, I don’t anticipate that being the situation for long. We’ll discuss this more when you arrive.”
“I understand.” Harry continued, “Special Agent, if there is questioning of Rawlings to be done, I request to be involved.”
“I believe you were told Ms. Nichols cleared Mr. Rawlings of anything to do with her disappearance.”
Harry leaned against the wall and took in the empty room. Claire hadn’t lived there in almost three months. Her things had been packed and shipped, yet if he closed his eyes, he could see her face and hear her laugh. The scent of her favorite perfume lingered in the recesses of the room and lofted into his senses. He shook his head and tried to focus. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Agent, this goes without saying; however, I realize you’ve became close to Ms. Nichols’ family. This information is classified—no one else can know.”
Harry thought about the people in the kitchen: Amber, Keaton, John, Emily, and Liz. How could he possibly walk out there and not tell Claire’s sister that Claire was alive?
Harry swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you, Special Agent
, for this opportunity.”
“Don’t blow it, Agent Baldwin. It may be your last chance.”
“I won’t, sir.”
After Harry disconnected the call, he walked into the attached bathroom. Looking at his reflection, he worked to subdue the smile that begged to fill his face. Finally, he gave in to the relief. Tears flooded his eyes, and his grin emerged as he whispered, “Thank you God. Thank you for keeping her safe. Just help me nail that son-of-a-bitch once and for all!”
I regret those times when I've chosen the dark side. I've wasted enough time not being happy.
—Jessica Lange
Tony made no attempt to subdue his glare. This ridiculous mockery had gone on for far too long. The walls of the small interrogation room were beginning to close in around him. He didn’t try to keep his volume in check as he addressed the FBI agent across the table, “Agent Jackson, I’ve been listening to you for hours and I’ve—”
Brent interrupted, “What my client is trying to say is—if you don’t plan on charging him with a crime, we’re leaving.”
Agent Jackson pulled out a binder of papers. It was surprising he could locate anything within the clutter of jumbled stacks upon the table. While Brent had more recently arrived, Tony had been sitting there for hours, listening as the FBI agents tag-teamed his interrogation. One would ask questions and then disappear. Moments later, another agent would enter the room and resume the inquisition. The barrage was taking its toll; between the throbbing in his head and the ache in his back, Tony was ready to leave the small room. He didn’t care how—he just wanted out.
Agent Jackson leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what; I’m tired—you’re tired, and I don’t anticipate this ending anytime soon. The Bureau has kindly arranged for you, Mr. Rawlings, to spend the night. Mr. Simmons, by signing the gag order and release forms, you too will be provided accommodations until this situation is resolved.”
Brent stood. “This is Anthony Rawlings, CEO of Rawlings Industries. You cannot hold him without probable cause.”
Agent Jackson stood to meet Brent’s gaze. “Despite your client’s recent loss of memory, I guarantee we have probable cause; however, if you gentleman aren’t ready to call it a night”—he handed Brent the binder—“Then I suggest you and your client review this testimony. We can continue this discussion in a few hours.”
Tony’s blood boiled. He’d spent hours being questioned about Claire, their relationship, and her disappearance. Not once had anyone from the FBI volunteered information regarding her safety or whereabouts. Getting angry hadn’t produced any results; he decided to try cooperation. Slapping his hand on the table, he exhaled. “If this will help you find Claire, I’ll stay, but once again, I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I want her found—safe and sound. If you have information regarding her whereabouts, I deserve to know.”
Agent Jackson looked at his watch. “Mr. Rawlings, what you deserve, has yet to be determined. Gentlemen, I’ll have food delivered. I suggest you utilize this time as a meeting of the minds. This case has taken unexpected twists and turns, and I want answers when I return.”
Tony looked down at his hands. This man and the whole damn FBI were holding him essentially against his will. He hadn’t had this kind of restriction placed on his comings and goings since childhood—it was absurd. As Agent Jackson left the room, Tony didn’t bother to stand; being polite to the man holding him hostage wasn’t high on Tony’s priority list.
His mind spun trying to decipher meaning from the agent’s questions. Agent Jackson asked Tony when he last saw Claire. He asked if he’d spoken to her while he was in Europe. Why he cut his European trip short? Why he hired a bodyguard for Claire? What happened in California that led to Claire’s hospitalization? After showing pictures of Claire with Harrison Baldwin, the agent asked if Tony was sure he was the father of Claire’s unborn child.
Yes, that innuendo could have landed Tony in custody for assault, if Brent hadn’t been quick enough to separate the two.
Looking around at the drably painted walls, he rolled his head upon his shoulders and looked toward his friend and attorney. It was their first opportunity to speak alone since Brent’s arrival. Tony cleared his throat. “Thanks for getting out here to Boston so fast.”
Brent’s stance softened. “You know it’s true; they can hold you up to forty-eight hours without charges.”
“Why won’t they give us any information on Claire?”
“I’d assume they want to learn what you know first.” As Brent spoke, he opened the binder. Tony watched Brent’s face blanch as he scanned the pages. For minutes, Tony sat and studied his friend’s expression. With each passing second Brent’s expression became harder and grimmer.
As the tension grew, Tony asked, “What is that?”
Brent didn’t answer; instead, he walked to a chair in the corner of the room, turned on another light, and continued reading.
“I’m getting fuck’n sick of no one answering my questions,” Tony muttered as he paced about the room. The day had been too long.
Tony thought pensively about Sophia and wondered if she’d shown up for dinner at the Inn at Crown Pointe, only to be stood up. Glancing at Brent engrossed in his reading, Tony collapsed once again in the metal chair, placed his elbows on the table and supported his head. In desperate need of a reprieve, Tony closed his eyes and tried to push his concerns for Claire away.
What did unexpected twists and turns mean? Could Claire be—dead? No! Tony refused to believe that.
Behind his closed lids, he didn’t see the darkness of escape; instead, emerald green filled his imagination. When was the last time he saw her? They asked him that over and over. He’d seen her image on his video surveillance getting in the car, but in person—he remembered it vividly:
It was early—very early—the morning he left for Europe—much earlier than Claire liked to wake. As the first rays of sunlight emerged from behind the heavy drapes, Tony was ready to leave. Claire wasn’t stirring, yet he didn’t want to leave without talking to her. Actually, she’d asked him to wake her; however, as he stood watching, she looked so peaceful and content. He hated disturbing her slumber.
Her rhythmic breathing moved pieces of her hair as they hung over her beautiful face. Before he could stop himself, Tony brushed the strands away from her cheek. Beneath the disheveled brown hair he found pink, slightly parted lips. Without hesitation he bent down and touched his lips to hers. The warmth of his kiss stirred her, causing her face to incline toward his. Though her eyes were still closed, her lips engaged as she reached for his neck.
Her sleepy voice questioned, “You woke me up before you left?”
“You told me to.”
Her eyes opened, revealing a bewildered expression.
“Why are you looking at me that way? You said you wanted me to wake you.”
“I know.” She sat up, their gaze unbroken. “I’m just not used to you listening to me, or doing what I say.”
He pressed closer, feeling the sensation of her breasts against his chest. “Well, we could go back to—”
Claire shook her head as she, once again, surrounded his neck with her arms. “No, I like this better.”
His devilish grin couldn’t be contained. “Well, last night you didn’t seem to mind a few directions or should I say suggestions?”
Her cheeks reddened as she hid her face in his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I like that too.”
Taking her chin in his gentle grasp, Tony searched her eyes. He could get lost in the depths of the green—emerald green—so deep and rich. “I was hoping I could change your mind about joining me on this trip.”
Their noses nearly touched as her lids fluttered and her expression softened. “When do you need to leave?”
It wasn’t the response he wanted; he wanted her to say she’d come to Europe with him. “The plane’s ready. Eric’s waiting in the car.”
Claire’s expression beckoned, her fingers fou
nd the buttons of his shirt, and her words came between butterfly kisses to his neck, “I don’t think”—“Eric would mind”—“waiting a little longer”—“Besides”—“you’re going to be gone”—“for almost two weeks”
As Claire’s fingers moved toward his belt and her lips touched his newly exposed chest, Tony’s travel plans seemed suddenly insignificant. Then, before Tony could take this moment any farther, Claire kissed him, smiled, and said, “Give me a minute.”
“Seriously, you’re going to do this to me and walk away?”
Claire didn’t look back as she walked toward the bathroom, giggled, and mumbled something about ‘it’ being his fault. She was right. The pregnancy was his fault; nonetheless, watching her in nothing but her long silk nightgown, he couldn’t help grinning. Her normal clothes didn’t accentuate their growing baby, but in that nightgown, he could see her growing midsection plain as day. When she returned, he was back in bed. His travel clothes neatly piled on a nearby chair.
As Claire started to climb in bed, their eyes met and Tony shook his head.
“What?” she asked, as her smile melted his soul.
He tried for his most formidable voice. “Ms. Nichols, you started this. I believe you are excessively overdressed.”
Her demeanor looked anything but intimidated. She barely hesitated as she ignored his comment, climbed onto the bed, and pushed Tony back onto his pillow. Hovering above him, he inhaled the scent of toothpaste as Claire’s freshly brushed hair swept across his face. With a sexy smile she challenged his demand, “Then, Mr. Rawlings, I suggest you do something about that.” Within seconds, their worlds reversed. Claire was pinned to her pillow, her nightgown gone and her hands secured above her head. Her giggle quickly became a moan as her eyes closed indicating her approval of his actions.
It wasn’t just the moan that indicated her approval—no, her entire body approved, as did his. For the next forty minutes they were lost within one another. Tony couldn’t help caressing and kissing her midsection as he moved up and down her sensual body. Her soft skin and amazing scent dominated his thoughts. Any concerns of his impending departure disappeared.